This morning I did a load of laundry as soon as I got out of bed. When it was finished spinning I lugged the basket of wet clothes out into the back yard.
Standing ankle deep in clover, my feet wet with dew, I slowly hung the clothes on the line, much like my mother and grandmother did.
This morning there is a faint smell of bacon coming from one of my neighbours houses, I can also smell something sweet and spicy, not quite like curry, coming from somewhere else. The clover nearly over powers all these scents with it’s bright sweetness, sending clear signals.
The clothes occasionally flap when the breeze kicks up a bit. The sound does nothing to stall the constant droning buzz of the big fat bumble bees that come to our yard. I’m careful of them, as they are working the same white and pink flowers that brush my ankles as I move down the line.
From the kitchen window I can hear the clinking sound of glasses and bowls being taken down from the cupboards by inexperienced hands. My daughters are up and getting their own breakfast, it’s time to finish this up and get back inside, dry off my feet, and count my blessings.